Fever
by Spookykat
Summary: Booth gets a fever. Brennan has the cure. And Caroline blackmails. B/B fluff.
1. Onset

FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth had seen more than his more than his fair share of dead bodies. Thanks to his tour in Iraq as well as his work as a field agent with the FBI, violence was just part of the daily routine. Blood, guts, and gore were just a part of his job.

There had been corpses with blood oozing out of half-decomposed skeletons, organs cut out, some incinerated, dismembered, beheaded. His partnership with Dr. Temperance Brennan had taught him one thing over the course of four years: that bodies could get pretty gross.

This was the kind of stuff that would've given the likes of Wes Craven or Stephen King nightmares. The kinds of things he saw in the field were ten times worse than any horror movie. But even as a kid, the bloody scenes never bothered him in the horror movies he'd watched with Jared sometimes when his mom let him. He never once got squeamish at the gross parts, or even at a crime scene. In fact, if truth be told, he was actually kind of fascinated.

If Booth were being truly honest with himself, he had to admit it was more than slightly twisted. If Sweets got wind of this, he was pretty sure that the psychologist would have a field day with that little tidbit of info. If he told Bones, she'd probably launch into one of her usual spiels about the human fascination for the grotesque and how it fed some sort of need to feel better about ourselves because we're not them when in reality, we were escaping the real issue at hand that a life had been lost or some sort of mumbo-jumbo like that.

That's not to say that he didn't feel sympathy for the victims and their families. The young victims always got to him, especially if they were close to his son's age or if it was a case that hit close to home like deaths that resulted from abuse. He was always gratified when he and Bones could bring their victims justice. That was one of the reasons that he loved his job.

Yes, a life was lost and that was a horrible thing. No, nobody deserved the fate of being a mangled mess left to rot for so long that they were decomposed beyond recognition, which was usually the case with the victims he and Bones dealt with.

But despite the tragedy, despite the horror, despite the injustice, his inner nine-year-old always won out. Whenever he and Bones got assigned a new case, the excitement always took over because at the end of the day, the blood-and-guts stuff was just plain cool.

So when he christened the roadside with the half-digested pancakes he'd just eaten at the diner not twenty minutes before, he was more than a little surprised. Especially since the body in question was only a skeleton. Nothing too gross about that.

"Booth?" Bones asked, brow furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "Remind me never to order the pancakes again," he said.

"I wouldn't be so quick to blame it on the pancakes if I were you," she countered.

"That diner isn't exactly the cleanest place in the world, Bones. Maybe Sid forgot to wash his hands."

"Sid cooked *my* food and *I'm* not sick," she retorted. "It's not Sid's fault."

"What else could it be?" Booth demanded in an irritated tone.

"Well, maybe if you didn't drive like a psychotic maniac, you wouldn't be suffering from dyspepsia brought on by kinetosis."

"English, please," Booth said, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't sure if it was the squint-speak giving him a headache or what, but his head was throbbing and muscles he didn't even know he had were hurting like hell.

"Motion-sickness," she was studying him closely now. "Booth, you're pale. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Must have wrenched my back or something working out," he said. "I need a couple of ibuprofen or something. I'll be fine."

*~*~*~

"Driving like that will only make your stomach worse," Brennan chided.

"We are on our way back from a crime scene. It's okay to drive like a psychotic maniac if we're doing our job, Bones," he reminded her.

He shivered. "Is it cold in here to you?"

"Are you making a metaphor because of the comment I made about your driving?"

"Nobody likes a back-seat driver, Bones," he said. "But no, no metaphor. It's freezing."

Brennan shook her head. "It's seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit. That's forty-two degrees over the freezing point according to the thermometer on the dash. It's well within the parameters of room temperature."

Booth sighed. "Well, I'm cold," he said, turning off the air conditioner.

They pulled into the parking garage. Booth got out of the car, and suddenly felt as though the world was spinning. He leaned against the SUV as he waited for Brennan to get her kit out of the back. By some miracle, he was able to put one foot in front of the other and make it inside.

"Whoa, Booth!" Angela exclaimed as they entered, face filled with worry, "I never thought I'd say this…but you don't look so hot."

"Bad pancakes," Booth explained. Then he threw up again, this time all over Angela's shoes.

"Not the Jimmy Choos!" she cried, kicking them off and holding them as far away from her body as physically possible. "Do you know how long I had to save up to afford those?"

"Sorry," Booth replied meekly. "I'll replace them," he offered.

"Booth, go home!" Cam ordered. "There's a bad flu bug going around and…"

"I don't have the flu!"

"I won't risk having you getting me and my team sick. Dr. Brennan can take care of the interrogation once we finally get a lead on this case."

Booth snorted. "Bones? Interrogate?"

Brennan looked offended. "I'm not *that* bad."

"Sweetie," Angela said. "I love you, but you kinda got the people-skills of a bole weevil."

"I have people skills!" Brennan protested.

"Booth go home," Cam repeated.

"I would," but everything's kind of…spinny right now."

"Spinny?" Brennan echoed, even more worried than she was earlier. She felt his forehead. "He's burning up!"

"That's it." Cam said. "Dr. Brennan, take Booth home. I'll keep you posted on our findings."

Booth handed her the keys to his SUV.

"Now I know you're sick," she said with a grin. "You're letting me drive."

"Yeah, well, don't get too comfortable," he said as they pulled out of the parking garage.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

Brennan found some Tylenol in Booth's medicine cabinet and it didn't take much coaxing to get him to take them and get into bed, but despite her efforts, Booth's fever had climbed to one hundred and two degrees.

He finally managed to dose off. She took the opportunity to slip out to get some chicken broth and a couple of ice packs at the nearby Walgreens. She was glad when she found the key still underneath the fake rock.

"Bones!" Booth cried out. "Bones!"

"What is it Booth? What's wrong?"

"Where did you put the unicorn?"

"The what?"

"The unicorn! It was right by the bed. It wanted to keep me company."

"Ssssh," she said, putting a finger on his lips. He kissed her fingertip lightly, sending shivers up and down her spine. She wanted to argue that unicorns are mythical creatures and didn't actually exist, but she decided to let that one slide. "I need to get your temperature. Keep this under your tongue."

"Will you keep me company?" he pleaded, as soon as she removed the thermometer. His eyes were glazed over and she knew the now hundred-and-four degree fever was making him delirious, so leaving him alone in this state was out of the question.

"Of course I'll keep you company," she said. "But first I have to get your fever down.

"That's good Bones."

"Bones?"

"Yes Booth?"

"The cookies need a helmet."

"I'll take care of that," Brennan said, deciding it best just to humor him for the time being.

"Bones?" he called out again.

"What is it Booth?" she answered, letting out a harassed sigh.

"I love you," he said.

She felt the floor drop from beneath her feet. It was the fever talking. It had to be. She knew there was respect there. She knew he cared about her. But love?

That was something else entirely.

"Hold that thought," she said. "I've got to get your fever down," she said and headed for his bathroom.

The ridiculous dual beer can hat was beside the tub, along with the rubber duckie and a comic book. This time, it was something called 'The Watchmen.' She turned on the cold-water faucet, flipped down the toilet seat and whipped out her cell phone.

"Ange," she said in a whisper.

"How's Booth doing?"

"He's got a fever of 104."

"Oh my God. Do you need any help or anything?"

"Andhejusttoldmehelovesme," Brennan said it as though it were one word.

"YES!!" Angela cheered. Brennan had to hold the cell phone away from her ear. "It's about dang time!"

"What?!?!"

"Sweetie, there was a pool going. We've *all* seen the way you two are with each other…the way both of you are when one of you is in trouble. It was only a matter of time. So, um, one question remains. What are you calling *me* for? Why aren't you in his bed right this second doing the mattress mambo?"

"Angela, he also wanted to know where his unicorn was and wanted me to put a helmet on the cookie."

"Some people have strange euphemisms," Angela answered.

"What do I do, Angela?"

"I say run with it. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars and," Brennan could tell by her voice that she had broken into a grin. "don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"He's sick! He's not going to remember anything after the fever goes down."

"So what's the problem? Oh wait, I know what this is about. I know you, and I know how you are with feelings. Feelings are scary. Just…trust me on this one and let yourself be happy for once, Bren. Don't over-think this one. Whatever happens, happens. It's worth the risk."

"You can say that after all that happened between you and Dr. Hodgins?"

"Sweetie, despite what happened, I don't regret a single minute of my relationship with Jack," she said softly and sighed. "Sometimes it doesn't work out. Sometimes you get hurt. Sometimes you don't get the fairy-tale ending. But that's life. You've gotta take the good with the bad. But no risk, no reward."

"Thanks Ange, I've gotta go," she said quickly and hung up abruptly.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Brennan demanded.

"Looking for my unicorn," Booth said as though it were the most logical explanation in the world.

"That's it, I've got to get your fever down." She didn't trust him for a minute in the bathroom. He was still experiencing dizzy spells. That could've been disaster. "Booth," she said, turning off the water. "come here and sit on the couch."

She found the thermometer on his nightstand, shook it down, and put it in his mouth again. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I love you too, Booth," she whispered. She took the thermometer out, glad to have a reason not to look at him. "104.5. Any higher, and you're going to the Emergency Room."

She went to his freezer to get the bag of ice she bought at the drugstore and dumped half of its contents in the tub.

She was shaking like a leaf. She could control her hands enough to open the bag.

There.

She said it.

Out loud.

To him.

Of course, he was delirious and probably wouldn't remember it when the fever broke, but at least that was something.

She'd written it before on that note she'd scribbled while she'd been trapped in her car with Hodgins three years ago.

She never intended to show it to anyone.

She didn't even show it to Hodgins, even after he professed his love for Angela that day. As far as she was concerned, an actual unicorn would be standing in his bathroom before anyone, least of all him, knew the truth about how she felt.

But now he said it. It was the scariest thing she'd ever done. And with any luck, he wouldn't remember it.

"Find the unicorn yet, Bones?"

"It's in the bathroom," she half-whispered. She swallowed the tears that were threatening to flow freely. "Why don't we visit it together."

"Okey-dokey," Booth said with a giggle. "That rhymed."

She knew he had to undress to get into that bath, and he was in no shape to do it himself.

She could do this. She was a doctor. He was her patient.

"Just breathe," she told herself.

Booth's own chest rose and fell, obviously thinking the command was for him.

Ever so slowly, with trembling hands, she unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. She tried not to let her fingertips brush against his bare abs as she lifted his undershirt over his head, but you might as well have asked the waves not to roll on the sand. She unfastened the 'Cocky' belt buckle. With a clank, it fell to the floor. Then the pants followed. She hoped she wasn't pinching anything with the zipper. She decided she'd leave his boxers on and she helped him into the tub.

"Brrrr!" he said, shivering. "I didn't think unicorns liked the cold."

She heaved a sigh of relief as she realized that he was incoherent. She just took the biggest risk of her life, but one look into his gorgeous brown (and currently glassy) eyes confirmed that he was delirious.

No harm, no foul.

After ten minutes of the ice bath, she helped Booth out, dried him off, and found a t-shirt to pull on over his head and helped him back into bed. His fever was on its way down now at 103, but she wasn't taking any chances.

She found a blanket and pillow in his closet. Her gaze lingered on his face for a few moments before she closed the door.

She'd finally said it. She'd let the words leave her lips. He had heard it, and if she was lucky, he wouldn't remember tomorrow. She allowed herself the luxury of brushing her fingers softly across his cheekbones and down his jaw line. He still felt warm, but the fever was definitely, finally, coming down.

She closed the door behind her and made herself as comfortable as possible on his couch.

She dreamed the things she never even dared to want before


	2. Possible Regrets, Impossible Solutions

Booth opened his eyes. He wasn't feeling like running a marathon yet, but it was a big improvement upon the way he felt the day before. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur. He vaguely remembered coming home. He didn't know exactly when he changed out of his suit, or why his boxers were damp.

To his surprise he was feeling hungry. He got out of bed and jumped when he saw something stirring on the couch.

"Booth?" she asked sleepily. "Go back to bed!"

"Bones? What the hell are you doing on my couch? Why can't you ever just call before you come over?"

"You don't remember yesterday?"

"Not much. I remember breakfast. I remember a new case. I remember throwing up said breakfast. I remember you taking me home…and then after that, it's kinda fuzzy."

"Good," she answered blankly. "Wouldn't want you remembering anything embarrassing," she said, looking everywhere but at him.

"How high was my fever anyway?"

"104.5 at its highest," she said, reaching for the thermometer. "You're sweaty now, though, so that means it broke!" she added enthusiastically. She felt his forehead. "Open," she said, thermometer at the ready, and stuck it in his mouth for extra reassurance.

"You're not dizzy still are you?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Not queasy or nauseated?" He shook his head again.

She took the thermometer out of his mouth. "It's 99.7 now. Still a little high, but much better."

"Who are you calling?" Booth asked when she got out her phone.

"I need to call a cab. I drove your car."

"Let me at least drive you back to the lab, Bones. It's the least I can do. Wait a minute…I let you drive? I must have been out of my mind!"

"Booth, you need to rest. You've still got a low-grade fever, so therefore you're still contagious. Hello?" she said into the cell phone "Yes? Capital Cab Company? I need transportation to the Jeffersonian Institution from...what's your address Booth?"

"Was it that bad?"

"Booth, I need to get to work. I missed a day already on this case!"

"I didn't say anything I might regret, did I?"

"You wanted me to put a helmet on a cookie and you kept looking for your unicorn and the indicator that you truly weren't in your right mind was the fact that you let me drive?" she said, shaking her head, careful to omit one tiny detail. "How alpha male of you. Now, can you please give me your address?"

"What? I just always drive. You squint, I drive. That's how we roll."

She shrugged. "It's not as though it's the first time I've seen you without mental facilities," she said, grinning.

"I'd say that was a cheap-shot, but you're not capable of kidding."

"I wasn't trying to say you are dumb, Booth," she said. "I'm just saying you weren't acting like yourself."

"Well, thanks for takin' care of me," he said lamely.

"We're partners. We take care of each other," she reminded him. "That's what we do. You would've done the same for me."

"Hello? HELLOOOO! Miss? Ma'am?" a loud man's voice was saying on the phone. "Tell your boyfriend to shut it! You two love-birds can kiss and make up and have all the ensuing make-up sex you want until we get there, but right now, I need that address!"

"We're partners!" They both said at the same time.

"Whatever. I can't pick you up if I don't have an address!" said the dispatch so loud that Booth could here it.

Booth took the phone. "Eaglebrooke Apartments, number 4, corner of Pike and Cherry."

"Thank you," said the dispatch with an exasperated sigh. "Okay, okay. Someone will be there in five minutes. And sorry about the lovebird comment. You two were acting worse than me and my wife of thirty-five years."

"He said he's sorry about the love-bird comment," Booth reported.

"It's all right, sir," Brennan answered loud enough for the man to hear. "You made a common assumption that is only natural in a couple-oriented society…" Brennan answered, but she didn't get to finish her explanation, because Booth had hung up the phone.

"You didn't let me finish!" Brennan protested.

"Sometimes less is more, Bones," Booth replied.

"There's nothing wrong with using opportunities to educate everyone, Booth," Brennan argued.

"There's educating people and then there's just plain showing off," he countered.

"I do NOT show off!" She retorted.

Booth sighed. "I don't have the energy to argue right now," he said. He glanced out his window. "And besides, it looks like your cab's here."

A honking horn sounded from the street.

"If you start feeling worse, call me," she said, gathering her coat and purse.

"Go forth and be squinty, Bones" Booth replied.

"There's some chicken broth in the cupboard and Jell-o in the refrigerator." She said. "It's chocolate," she yelled from the cab.

"Thanks," he said, waving. And then to himself in an almost-whisper: "for everything."

*~*~*~*~

Being an FBI Agent all these years meant that he had to be fairly adept at reading people. He had to be able to tell when someone was lying, or lying by omission.

He had a knack for reading people he barely knew. He knew Bones better than anyone, and she definitely wasn't being entirely forthcoming with him earlier.

He didn't have much time to dwell on this. His cell phone vibrating on the coffee table interrupted his reverie.

"Booth," he answered.

"Oh my GOD, Booth," Hodgins was saying on the other end of the line. "You just made me stinking rich."

"Hodgins, you're already stinking rich. Wait a minute…how did I make you rich?"

"I won the pool!"

"What pool?"

"The 'When Are Booth and Brennan Finally Going to Do It?' Pool. Angela already told me everything. Hey! Question…does she say the anatomically correct names of things in bed?"

"Angela already told you *what* exactly?" Booth demanded.

"Wait a sec…you didn't…oh boy…"

"You guys seriously need a hobby if my love-life is an on-going discussion. And what makes you think I know *anything* about what Bones says in bed?"

"Not your entire love-life," Hodgins corrected. "Just as is it pertains to Dr. Brennan."

"Then there's nothing for anyone to discuss because my love-life does not *include* her." Not that he didn't wish otherwise with every fiber of his being, but he wasn't about to tell *him* that, or anyone else, any time soon.

"I am sooo sorry, Booth. Oh my God…I just assumed…Ange told me you finally confessed your feelings to her and I just thought…"

"She said what?!?" Booth exploded.

His mind was reeling. He *knew* Bones was hiding something. Why did everyone in the universe seem to know what came out of his mouth before he did?

"Dr. Brennan called her in a panic yesterday because apparently you told her you loved her."

"I also let her drive! And apparently I wanted a cookie to have a helmet and was looking for my unicorn. I was out of my mind!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes the real truth comes out when we're sans the brain cells to lie."

"Just drop it, Hodgins, okay?"

"So nothing happened last night? Or this morning?"

"Nothing happened! She slept on the couch. She took a cab to work. And if any of the other squints get wind of this, it's not gonna be pretty."

"It's kinda too late for that, Booth," Hodgins said.

If he were a different sort of person, he would've had a hit put out on her. But for now, he'd have to settle for torture. Sticking her in a room and with Teletubbies on loop for seventy-two hours straight should do the trick nicely. Or maybe Barney.

"Seriously. Get another hobby. NOW. Or I'll show you what the government REALLY does to torture people."

"Hey, don't blame the messenger, man."

"Listen, *man*," Booth growled. "The last thing I remember about yesterday was Bones taking me home. After that it's all a blur. "Oh God…" he trailed off, rubbing his forehead.

"You've got to fix this, Booth." Hodgins said.

"HOW! She didn't mention any of this before she left, and she sure was in a hurry to leave as soon as she realized I was on the mend. Probably means…she doesn't want…"

"What it *means* is she is scared."

"Scared of what, exactly?" Booth demanded.

"Scared of admitting the truth, facing possible rejection, and trading a moment of passion for the friendship you two share," Sweets' voice chimed in.

"I was going to say scared of taking a risk, but that one works, too," Hodgins added.

"Oh my God, Sweets? You too? Hodgins, are you on speaker-phone?"

"I'm interested from a purely clinical stand-point," Sweets said.

"What would a twelve-year-old like you know about big grown-up things like the complexities of an adult relationship?" Booth snapped.

"You mean love? As it pertains to a romantic relationship? Let's see…I got some last night, and it appears that you didn't," Sweets gloated. "Who's the authority on the subject now, lover-boy?"

"Booth, you've got to fix this," Hodgins said.

"How?"

"Get sick again," Hodgins and Sweets said together.

"What?! No!!"

"You don't actually have to get sick again…" Sweets said.

"Just give her a reason to think you're dilirius again," Hodgins finished.

"Listen Frick-and-Frack," Booth said, "I don't think there's anything to fix. She's obviously pretending I didn't say that. I'm willing to play along. Why can't everyone else just get on board?"

"Because," Sweets replied with a harassed sigh. "You know the truth. You both know the truth. Neither of you want to admit it because neither of you wants to get hurt. And by avoiding the truth, you're making yourselves hella miserable."

"Life is short, Booth," Hodgins said. "Why would you spend one more second of one more day without her knowing how you really feel?"

"It's not that simple, guys," Booth replied.

"You're scared," Sweets said. "I get that."

"I am NOT scared," Booth retorted.

"Then tell her!" They said together, and then hung up.


	3. Blackmail

Fear makes us do funny things.

Brennan knew that Benjamin Franklin was—what was that phrase Booth used? Filled with carp?--when he said "the only thing to fear is fear itself." It causes us to walk constantly on a tightrope between our evolved human selves and what remains of our animal instincts, leaving us forever teetering between what we know is right and what we desperately want.

Most people thought love or money made you do stupid things, and they were right. Love and money were the motives of about eighty-five percent of the murders that she and Booth investigated over the four years of their partnership.

But the other fifteen percent? That particular fraction belonged to fear. Fear belonged right up there on that list of the stupid things normal, intelligent people wouldn't normally do.

Like telling a friend you loved him. As much, much more than a friend.

'Ok, so he didn't actually remember that you actually said those words, which was a good thing. Definitely a good thing,' Brennan decided as she arrived at the Jeffersonian.

"Sweetie, what happened?" Angela asked. "You're dressed in the same clothes you left in yesterday, so I'm guessing…good things?"

Brennan shook her head. "Are the others here yet? I need to be filled in. I really need to get a look at the remains from yesterday. I missed most of the day yesterday, you know."

"Yeah, because you were playing nursie with Booth," Angela said with a wry grin.

"I was taking care of him," Brennan said.

"Or were you two playing doctor?" Angela asked with a grin.

"I don't have to play doctor. I have a doctor*ate*. Making me an actual doctor."

Angela shook her head. "I meant, did you two have fun last night after our little pep talk? You know…horizontal fun?"

"Do we have an I.D. on the victim yet, Angela?" she asked dryly.

"Bren, I'm your best friend. Best friends discuss these things. I know you…you plus relationships equals big fat mess but…"

"I have relationships! Brennan protested. "Real ones. With people! You're the one who is actively choosing to be without a relationship. You're asking me about what happened last night because you're living vicariously through *my* relationships!"

"Ugh, Bren. I'm asking about what happened last night because despite the fact that you make it nearly impossible sometimes, I love you and I want you to be happy."

"I'm sorry Ange," she said with a sigh, hugging her. "I *did* tell him I loved him, if that makes you feel any better."

"Well, that's a start," Angela answered. "What did he say?"

"Nothing. He didn't remember anything this morning."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I don't have to be okay with it," she said crisply. "That's what happened."

"This is not 'As The Bones Turn,' people," Cam said as she swiped her I.D. Tag. "We have a job to do here."

"We look at gross dead things all day," Angela said. "Forgive me for actually trying to exist in the land of the living."

"I've been trying to do my job since I got here!" Brennan said, glaring at Angela.

"How's Booth?" Cam asked.

"He still had a low-grade fever this morning, but he seems to be healing nicely."

Cam nodded. "Now, can we get back to our regularly scheduled investigation or what?"

"What were your findings yesterday?" Brennan asked, taking note of the furtive glances Hodgins and Angela shared.

But that was nothing new.

At one point she saw Angela, Cam, Hodgins and Sweets all whispering in a circle as she came out of the restroom.

"Caroline," they all said at once, and made it a point not to make eye-contact with her.

She wondered what that was all about and hoped they weren't planning another one of those interventions or something.

An hour later, a very irritated Caroline Julian barged into her office.

"Now listen here, Sheri," she said. "I don't have the slightest CLUE why, but Agent Booth seems to like you. Correction. He's got this…" she looked her up and down with a look of disgust. "Thing for you. The boy is head over heals. You've got him all…twitterpated. Lord knows I don't understand it. You're scrawny, you're stubborn and you don't exactly earn any points in the personality department. But I guess there's no accountin' for taste. Or Cupid's aim."

"I am NOT scrawny!" Brennan objected. "And Cupid is a myth generated to…"

Caroline ignored her. "I do not care! I know it's a myth. Indulge me. I am not one to meddle in other people's affairs. Who am I kiddin'? I make it a hobby, but I digress. I have come here because I've been called away from my office to talk some sense into you. Because you have yet to exhibit one iota of common sense in the entirety of our working relationship, I'll make a deal with you."

"What kind of deal?" Brennan asked skeptically.

"If you don't say somethin' to the poor sonovabitch, meanin' Booth, within the next twenty-four hours, and by somethin', I mean if you don't declare your undying love for the poor fool, I will be sueing his ass…and yours for that matter…for the damage he caused my car last year! And that particular vehicle is irreplaceable!"

"That's not a deal, that's blackmail!"

"Take it or leave it, Sheri. And of course I'll be needin' some kinda proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"You're FBI, and you're intelligent, as you never fail to remind us every chance you get. I'm sure you'll figure out that little detail."

With that, she stormed out, leaving a panicked Brennan in her wake.

Normally, Brennan would have pointed out that she technically wasn't FBI, but at that particular moment, technicalities didn't seem that important.

*~*~*~*~*~

'For an FBI Agent, Booth really isn't that good at fooling possible intruders,' Brennan thought. The key was actually poking out from under the obviously fake rock this time.

"Booth?" Brennan called out.

No answer.

All the lights were on. If he felt worse, he would've called.

"Booth? It's me," she called again.

This was not good. Not good at all.

She drew her gun. The steel felt cold against her hands. It didn't feel comfortable in her grip, but she figured if she was going to have a gun, it might as well be a really big one.

She tiptoed through the livingroom. The blanket she'd folded earlier that day was still on the couch. No sign of Booth. Dishes left over from a bowl of soup he'd made himself laid in the sink.

'Well, at least he felt well enough to eat something,' she thought.

"Where IS my unicorn?" said a familiar voice from the bedroom.

She put her gun back in her purse and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank God! Booth! I thought…"


	4. The Beginning in the End

Brennan was livid. She turned on the radio and tried to let her mind wander as she decided how to handle the situation at hand.

*"Tell him that you're never gonna leave him

Tell him that you're always gonna love him

Tell him, Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him right now."

'So much for that idea,' she thought, rolling her eyes and decided that silence was, in fact, golden.

She knew Angela and Hodgins often made it their mission to encourage progress regarding her relationship with Booth. This time, they'd forced her hand in this particular situation enlisting the help of one very pissed off prosecuting attorney.

Not that this was the first time her relationship with Booth was the primary topic of discussion at the Jeffersonian. Cam went so far as to intervene when sparks were starting to fly between her and Jared Booth. She knew Sweets had gone so far as to write a book about their relationship. She also knew that Caroline's requests could be a bit…unusual, remembering with a blush that kiss under the mistletoe.

Not that she wasn't in love with Seeley Booth. They were indeed right about that much. She couldn't even lie to herself as far as that was concerned. Oh, she tried to quell it. But feelings are like bullies…the more you try to ignore them, the more they try to knock you over.

She told herself a million times that love only meant someone was going to get hurt and that things were going to go badly, and her working relationship was not worth risking the chance that he might love her back.

Brennan accepted that a long time ago. Why couldn't everyone else in her life? She couldn't understand why everyone in her life had a vested interest in this subject. Why did it matter to everyone else whether she told him or not?

Didn't he know? Couldn't he tell? Hadn't she already proven how she felt time and time again?

And how dare they ask her to risk their partnership?!

She loved them, and she knew they only did the things they did out of love for her and Booth, but this? Blackmailing her into a confession to Booth? This was taking it a bit too far.

Before she knew it, she was in front of his apartment.

She took out her purse and took out her digital tape recorder she used for investigations and pressed record, and stuck it in her pocket with the recording side up.

She took a deep breath and knocked. "This is it," she whispered.

No answer.

"Booth?" she asked, knocking again. "It's me."

Again, silence. His car was still parked in front, so he knew he had to be here. The lights were on. Why wasn't he answering? A chill went up and down her spine as a catalogue of possibilities ran through her head.

She used the spare key to let herself in.

"Booth? Are you okay?"

She tiptoed in further. An empty pot with the remains of the soup she'd gotten him lay in the sink along with the bowl.

"Booth! Answer me!" she said again. Hands shaking, she rummaged around in her purse for her gun. Booth always made fun of it. And it was almost too big for her hands, but it made her feel better.

She opened the door to the bedroom. He was on the bed, face pale.

"Booth?"

"Put the scarf on the puppy!" he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "I thought I told you to call me if you started feeling worse again!" she scolded.

She looked at the thermometer. It wasn't shaken down yet, but still read at 103.

"How long ago did you take your temperature?" she demanded.

"I love you," he said.

She frowned. "This again," she sighed. "Booth, I…"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence. He grabbed her arm, pulled her to him and forced his lips on hers. Their tongues danced for one glorious moment.

And then reality set back in. 'He's not sick at all. This was all a cheap ploy…'

She got up, straightened out her clothes and ran as fast as her feet could carry her and locked herself in Booth's bathroom.

Within seconds, she could here him banging on the door.

"Bones! Wait!" Booth cried on the other side of the door.

"Just leave me alone, Booth!"

"Bones! Please!"

"Go away!"

"Bones, you can't stay in there forever. You're going to have to come out of my bathroom at some point," he reminded her. "I'm going to need it eventually."

"Do what any other dog would do and use a plant!" she answered hotly.

"Ouch, Bones, don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"No. I think it's not fair to the dog to compare you to one."

"Bones, come on! Be fair! It's not what you think!"

"I thought you were sick! I thought you needed my help. I thought you were delirious again and I was out of my mind when you didn't answer me and it was all just a ruse to get me in bed?! Forget it! You're just going to have to live with the consequences. Caroline will sue us for all we're worth, but I don't care!"

"Ok, it *is* what you think, but…." a pause. "Caroline will what?!"

"That is not the issue here," she said, tearing off some toilet paper so she could dab her eyes.

"Come on Bones…" he pleaded. "You know me better than that! Someone told me lately that sometimes you have to be without all your brain cells to tell the truth…or something like that...yes, I staged it this time…I…I'm sooo sorry, I thought…you know…you and me…"

Despite her better judgment, a grin slowly crept across her tear-stained face.

"Temperance," he said just loud enough for her to hear on her side of the door. "I meant what I said before this whole thing began." He sighed. "I found out what happened yesterday and…"

She opened the door.

"How did you find out?"

"Let's just say I put the Special in Special FBI Agent," he said.

She swatted him on the arm. "So Hodgins told you?" she asked.

He nodded. The grateful smile that overtook his face melted any resolve she might have had to stay angry at him.

"I'm sorry I tricked you," he said. "So what's this about Caroline suing us?"

"I love you, too, Booth," she said finally. Her bottom lip began trembling and the tears once again came unbidden and unrelenting. "But I love our partnership. Our friendship means more to me than anything. I don't want anything to get in the way of that."

She dug into her pocket and pulled out her recorder. "Hear that Caroline?" she said into it, and turned it off. "Don't ask," Brennan said in response to the puzzled look on his face.

He let out a shaky sigh, cautiously taking a step closer. "So let me get this straight, because you love me, you *can't* love me?" He shook his head. "That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard."

"It's the truth. And admit it, it's your reason, too."

He pulled her to him, running his fingertips along her cheekbone with one hand, the other creeping lower and lower down her back.

"Can't we try?" he whispered in her ear. "What if our friendship, our partnership…what if that's the center that will hold us?"

She closed the gap between them, kissing him fiercely and he returned the kiss with equal intensity.

"I'm getting pretty warm again," he said with a grin, gently nibbling on her earlobe.

"So am I," she answered, her breath catching as she felt him kissing in a trail down her neck. She felt as though she might meld into him and knew what he meant when he told her once that love defied physics.

"And if it doesn't work out? If it all falls apart?" Booth asked her.

"Maybe some things are worth the risk," she replied, kissing him again.

It felt so good. So *right.* She belonged in his arms like the stars belonged in the sky.

Telling him those three words was the hardest thing she'd ever done. Now, as she lay in his arms, feeling safe and secure and loved, she had to admit it was also the best thing she'd ever done.

Things would change between them after this. Things would change at the Jeffersonian. That much was certain. But, she decided, sometimes change wasn't all bad.


End file.
